The Last Burning Day
by sarini
Summary: One-shot of the 'Unlocking Harry Potter' universe. Self-explanatory from the title. Implied SLASH, but no actual sexual content. Written long ago, but forgotten.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter not mine, etc. etc.

The Last Burning Day

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It was raining, and Carver David Potter found it to be an appropriate setting for the day's events. Only days ago his father had died of extremely old age, the result of a solitary use of the Elixir of Life.

Carver himself was nearly one hundred and seventy years old, a rather late stage in life in which to inherit the position of Head of a Family. Technically Harry Potter, his other father, still lived, but without Charlie there was no reason left for Harry to stay in their world, nothing to ground his obscenely powerful empathy and magical sight.

Though he was adopted, Carver was still the eldest Potter of his generation and it had long been established that he would inherit his father's title. His younger brother and sister, twins Randolph and Katherine, were more than amenable to the decision Harry made long ago. Randolph was the Head of the International Association for the Protection of Dragons, the agency that ran all the dragons preserves in the world, and Katherine was Headmistress of Hogwarts. They both said more than once that they had more than enough responsibility as it was.

Sighing, Carver adjusted his formal robes, not accustomed to the insignia that labeled him as the Potter Family Head. It was his father's position, not his.

Still, Charlie Weasley had lived longer than any other wizard before him, with the sole exception of the Flamels, who had been drinking the Elixir for hundreds of years. Carver had prepared for this day, knowing that when Charlie finally passed on to 'the next great adventure', that Harry would leave them as well.

He was officially the oldest wizard in the world, a distinction that made him somewhat uneasy. Carver knew that he would probably only have ten years or less before he passed the Head of Family position down to his son or grandson.

Looking outside, Carver saw hundreds of people gathered in the Potter Family Plot. There was roughly an even mix of redheads and dark hair, the dominant physical traits of the Weasley and Potter families. Various branches of the families were still intermarrying, and Carver had a terrible time figuring out the family tree lately. With fifty-seven great-great-grandchildren of his own, and more on the way, and three siblings that had been just as happy to reproduce as he was, the family was enormous. Then there were the descendents of his eleven aunts and uncles, some of whom were younger than he was.

Considering his father had once been the only Potter, it was amazing to see what only a few generations could accomplish. Of course, more than half of those directly descended from Harry Potter did not carry his name, as both of Carver's sisters had taken their husbands' names when they married.

Erica was gone though. She had lived to the ripe age of one hundred and forty three, but succumbed to a bout of pneumonia. The twins and Carver were among only a handful of people left in their generation.

Reclusive as they were, the names Charlie Weasley and Harry Potter were mere legend to most of those gathered for the memorial, but they were still family.

Carver was just thankful that his fathers' will had stated that the memorial was for family only. With just those descended from the Weasleys, Potters, Snapes, and Blacks present it was the largest gathering Carver had ever attended.

Stairs were difficult these days, but Carver just leaned on his staff and walked slowly. He walked outside and any talking stopped. Step by step, thanking the gods for pain killer potions, Carver made his way to the Potter Family Monument.

For many years it had been thought destroyed, but Harry Potter had found both the Manor and the Family Plot when he was seventeen. On the twentieth anniversary of the deaths of James and Lily Potter a second memorial had been held for them, and their names added to the memorial.

It was made of black granite, and measured fifteen meters across at the base. A fairly simple statue, it was in the shape of a wizard's staff, which had gone out of popular use in the times of Ancient Rome, and the names of every Potter since Padraig Potter (the dates of birth and death irrelevant as they were before the current calendar), who built the first Potter Manor long before the Romans invaded the island.

The memorial service had already been held, and Carver found he had no more to say about either of his fathers. So many of the people there had never even met them, and would not understand.

Raising both hands in the air, Carver felt the crackle of powerful magic. Due to his age, he had more control over his magic than most wizards could ever dream.

He did not even need to speak, and had no need to look and assure that the names had appeared as they were supposed to.

Charles Winston Weasley and Harold James Potter

(1972 and 1980 – 2164)

In truth, Harry was not dead, but his wishes were that Carver lead wizarding world to believe he died along with Charlie. As Carver knew his father would never transform back from his phoenix form again it was easier that way, for everyone.

Phoenix song came from the forest, the phoenix in question nowhere in sight. It was unlike the usual song one heard from the magical birds. This song was full of despair and longing. Harry was mourning the loss of his bondmate.

Charlie might have lived longer, but he had refused to drink the Elixir of Life after that first time that saved his life when the twins were so young they barely remembered the traumatic events of that year. Carver remembered though, and Erica had before she died.

That was the year 'Uncle' Sirius was brought back from the veil, the year Grandfather Severus and 'Uncle' Remus mated, the year Harry had disappeared for months to track down the Malfoys, who had kidnapped Charlie. It was also the year Carver and all his siblings had dragonpox. He still could feel the itching if he thought hard enough.

"Come on Granddad," Regina, his youngest great-grandchild, fifty years old and two months pregnant with her tenth child, took his arm to lead him inside to the banquet.

Carver smiled, "I drifted off again, hmmm?"

"Do you need to ask?" Regina grinned at him. She had not really known Harry and Charlie, only seeing them at important family events, even though she was directly descended from them.

He patted her arm, in a manner that seemed to belong to all old men when around young women, and sighed, "No my Dear."

Carver felt disconnected from the family that day. Randolph and Katherine were the only ones, still spry despite their own advanced age, that could get him to speak much more than a few words, but he felt recently as though his younger brother and sister belonged to a younger generation. As the blood children of Charlie and Harry, the twins had inherited some of Harry's bizarre chemistry, including whatever effects came from having dragon blood in Harry's system.

Randolph and Katherine Potter looked like a wizard and witch less than half their age. Carver had few doubts that they would outlive him, and most likely surpass Charlie in longevity. That entire branch of the family was going to be long-lived, as they were not fully human.

Of course, there was also the Veela branch of the family, descended from Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, Carver's cousins Dante, Patricia, Arthur, and Caleb the only children of that generation of Weasleys (apart from the twins) to avoid the Weasley red hair. They and their descendents all had the blond Veela hair, dilute as the blood connection was.

Before long, Carver was alone in Godric's Hollow. Technically Potter Manor, on Potter Island, was his now, but he could not bring himself to move there, not for the little time he had left. Already, it had been determined that his grandson Michael and his wife, along with their son Dominic and his family, would live in the Manor. They were the next heirs.

Carver preferred his small cottage, built on the site where Potter Manor stood before Harry moved it, a feat of magic that no one Carver knew would be capable of performing. They also no longer had Uncle Remus to figure out the exact spell needed.

Carver looked down at his gnarled hands and sighed as he raised his staff once more. His sitting room, normally a cozy space, had been temporarily expanded for the day, and he felt a deep need to return things to their usual state.

It was dusk, the summer sky growing dark, and Carver knew that soon Joseph would arrive to say his own words of parting. The vampire friend of his Uncle Remus had gotten close to Harry over the years, the only one Harry knew who could share the idea of immortality, the knowledge that he would outlive everyone he loved.

With Remus and Harry gone, and Carver's own connection to the Gudgeon family, Joseph's descendents, nearly gone now that Jackie and all her children had died, Carver doubted he would ever see the vampire again. Joseph had come to him several nights over the past few weeks, summoned first by Harry when he knew that Charlie was dying. Carver had already bid the vampire farewell the night before the memorial.

His bed beckoned – a lonely place with his wife of over one hundred years gone. With a sudden certainty that left Carver oddly comforted, he knew that ten years was an optimistic estimate earlier. It would only be a matter of months before he left that world and moved on. With a smile, he thought of seeing his wife again, his father Charlie, his grandparents, meeting Granddad James and Grandma Lily, not just their portraits.

Having Harry in the next world would be the only thing that could rush Carver onwards, but he knew it would several hundred years before Harry joined them, if he ever did. After all, it was still unknown if a phoenix could truly die. Fawkes had returned when Erica became Headmistress, adopting her as his witch, after Grandfather Severus died. Uncle Remus had left them within weeks, the longest lived werewolf ever.

It was another time, a new era for the wizarding world, all the heroes of the last massive wizarding war gone. No Dark Lord had dared try to rule with Harry Potter around to counter.

Carver fell asleep, his dreams the only place now where he could be with most of his loved ones. He almost wished he would not wake in the morning.

The world was simply not the same place with Charlie Weasley and Harry Potter gone.

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